Alec Storm dribbled the ball at the top of the key, his sharp eyes scanning the defense. His usual smirk was absent—his mind was racing.
"This guy... that free throw... it felt like a veteran's."
Alec had played against elite shooters before, guys with insane form and limitless range. But Ethan Albarado? He wasn't even on the scouting report.
How?
He glanced at Lucas Graves, the original problem.
Lucas was already watching him, eyes gleaming with sharp intensity. That guy was dangerous. Alec knew that much. He had seen how Lucas mimicked their moves—perfectly, effortlessly.
At first, he thought Lucas was the only variable they needed to contain. A copycat. A dangerous one. But a copycat nonetheless.
Now? Now, there was another unknown.
Alec shifted his focus back to Ethan, who stood in a defensive stance—calm, poised, waiting.
"Who is this guy?"
He hadn't seen Ethan play before. He hadn't even heard his na. Yet the way he shot that free throw... the way he carried himself...
That wasn't just talent.
That was experience.
But that didn't make sense.
There was no way a benchwarr, soone their scouts hadn't even bothered looking into, could have that level of composure.
That stillness.
Alec's fingers tightened around the ball as he dribbled.
Lucas and Ethan.
Two unknown variables.
One a mimic. The other? Sothing else entirely.
"Fine." Alec smirked slightly, shifting his stance. "Let's see if you're the real deal."
He took a hard pound dribble and exploded forward, heading straight for Ethan Albarado.
...
Ethan POV
As I locked eyes with Alec Storm, I could tell exactly what he was thinking.He was going to test .
Fine by .
Bring it on.
He started slow, keeping the dribble low, watching for any reaction. His eyes locked onto mine, his body loose and fluid.
Then—
He exploded to the right.
A quick, powerful first step.
His left foot pushed hard against the floor, his right knee drove forward, and the ball snapped from his left to his right hand.
To any defender, it would look like a full-speed drive.
But I didn't move.
Not even a flinch.
It was a fake.
Alec instantly stopped, trying to pull back the montum.
His pupils dilated in shock.
He realized I didn't bite.
I read him.
He dragged his right foot, planting it firmly to shift directions, but his slight hesitation gave it away.
Now he was off-rhythm.
He pounded the ball hard, trying to regain control—his shoulders squared, eyes scanning for another opening.
Too late.
I was already ahead of his next move.
He faked right again. Another sharp hesitation dribble.
This ti, he actually committed. He dropped his left shoulder and pushed forward, shifting the ball back to his left hand.
A crossover.
Quick. Deadly. Precise.
But I was there.
My feet slid effortlessly into position, my stance solid, arms wide. I cut him off clean.
Alec's breath hitched.
He had never faced soone who read him this fast.
"How did you—" he muttered, still in disbelief.
I smirked, keeping my stance. "Who knows?"
The truth?
I've seen this before.
I've studied this before.
Back when I was Jonathan Brandit.
Back when I was stuck in a wheelchair, forced to only watch.
For 14 years, I did nothing but study. Analyze. morize.
Every move. Every fake. Every detail.
And now?
I'm not Jonathan Brandit.
I'm Ethan Albarado.
And this ti—
I'm playing.
.....
3rd POV
Alec Storm's mind raced as he watched Ethan Albarado read his movents like an open book. His usual quickness, his deceptive fakes—none of it worked.
"Who the hell is this guy?" Alec thought, his grip tightening on the ball. He knew he had to switch things up.
His sharp eyes darted toward Mason Hayes.
With a quick flick of his wrist, Alec whipped a pinpoint pass across the periter. The ball zipped through the air, landing smoothly in Mason's hands.
Mason's dark blonde hair bounced slightly as he caught it. He barely had ti to react before—
Lucas Graves was already in front of him.
Mason clicked his tongue. "Tsk. This freak."
Lucas's golden eyes were locked onto him, unwavering.
Mason knew better than to challenge him head-on.
Without hesitation, Mason fired a pass inside the paint—straight to Jaxon Wells.
Jaxon caught the ball deep in the post. Brandon Young, Vorpal's center, was a step behind.
Wide open lane.
Jaxon knew exactly what to do.
He took one massive step, planting his foot inside the key. His muscles tensed, his arms coiled, and then—
BOOM!
Jaxon exploded into the air for a dunk.
Brandon Young jumped alongside him, arms fully extended.
A desperate attempt to block it.
But—
Jaxon was too strong. Too high.
The rim shook violently as Jaxon threw it down with authority.
The crowd erupted.
SLAM!
Lucas was already sprinting toward the paint.
His mind scread: "I have to stop this!"
But—he was too late.
Jaxon's hands had already gripped the rim, the ball already flushing through the net.
Mason saw Lucas coming and stepped in his way—
BANG!
Lucas and Mason collided mid-air.
Lucas gritted his teeth as he twisted his body, barely avoiding a full-body crash.
Mason, who had braced for impact, stumbled backward, barely keeping his balance.
The referee's whistle shrieked through the gym.
FOUL!
Mason raised his hands, eyes wide in protest. "What? That wasn't a foul!"
Lucas exhaled, rubbing his arm. He knew it didn't matter.
The dunk had counted.
The scoreboard changed.
Orlando Hoops – 50
Vorpal Basket – 30
Jaxon Wells landed, glaring down at Lucas.
"You can't stop that."
Lucas didn't respond.
He just clenched his fists, staring up at the rim.
He knew it.
That was power. That was domination.
And right now—Instead of frustration, Lucas's eyes burned with excitent.
SLAP!
Lucas smacked both of his cheeks, shaking off the weight of the last play. His golden eyes flickered with determination as he turned toward Jaxon.
With a wide grin, he declared,
"I WILL STOP IT!"
Jaxon Wells, still standing near the rim, blinked in surprise.
Lucas's expression wasn't arrogant.
It wasn't fueled by anger or desperation.
It was pure passion.
A deep love for the ga.
For a mont, Jaxon forgot about the competition, about the jersey Lucas wore.
He just saw a ballplayer who loved basketball.
Jaxon crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly.
"This guy..." he thought. "He's serious."
Mason Hayes scoffed, stepping beside Jaxon.
"Tch. Big words, benchwarr. You think you can stop Jaxon?"
Lucas didn't even look at him. His eyes were locked on Jaxon, filled with unwavering conviction.
Jaxon exhaled, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Alright then... Show ."
...
Ethan Albarado's POV
Watching from near half-court, I couldn't help but smile.
"This is why I idolized Lucas in Turning Point."
Lucas Graves wasn't just so prodigy with a god-given talent.
He loved basketball more than anyone.
He never played for fa.
He never played for pride.
He played to have fun.
Even in this high-stakes ga, even after getting dunked on—he smiled.
It reminded of myself when I was just a kid.
Before the accident.
Before the regrets.
Back when I played purely for the joy of it.
I clenched my fist.
"Lucas... you're not the only one who loves basketball."
"I'm here too."
And this ti—I won't just watch from the sidelines.
......
Evan Cooper dribbled the ball at the top of the key, his sharp eyes darting between his teammates.
His grip on the ball tightened as he stole a quick glance at Ethan Albarado and Lucas Graves.
"I didn't know these two could play like that."
Lucas had already proven his skills with his Absolute Mimicry, and Ethan...
Evan wasn't sure yet.
But the way Alec Storm's eyes flickered with suspicion toward Ethan—that ant sothing.
With Alec still pressing on him, Evan made a quick decision.
"Let's see what you got, Albarado."
A sharp chest pass shot toward Ethan.
The ball hit Ethan's hands smoothly, but he barely reacted.
Instead, his blue eyes scanned the floor.
At that mont, the court slowed down.
Not because of so supernatural ability—but because of his new skill.
....
[Skill Activated: Playmaker's Vision (Advanced)]
- Decision-making ability drastically enhanced.
- Passing accuracy and court awareness significantly improved.
- Makes teammates more effective on offense.
....
Ethan's pupils dilated.
He could see what people couldn't see.
Every open lane. Every defensive gap. Every subtle movent of his teammates and opponents.
Alec Storm was pressuring Evan.
Mason Hayes was too focused on Lucas.
Julian Cross was hovering in the middle, watching for a steal.
Ethan Blake was locked into the paint, covering Brandon Young.
Ethan smirked.
"Let's run a play."
He took a single hard dribble to the left—baiting Alec and Julian into thinking he was going to drive.
Instantly, Julian Cross shifted slightly toward him.
That tiny mistake was all he needed.
Ethan faked a step forward, then—SNAP!
A lightning-quick behind-the-back pass shot toward Lucas Graves on the right wing.
Lucas caught it perfectly in rhythm.
Mason Hayes, caught off guard by the pass, reacted a split second too late.
Lucas drove hard toward the baseline.
Julian Cross, realizing the mistake, rushed to cut him off.
But Ethan wasn't done.
Before Julian could reach Lucas, Ethan darted forward into the paint.
Lucas saw him.
Lucas trusted him.
A quick bounce pass left Lucas's hands—right into Ethan's stride.
One step. Two steps.
Ethan planted his feet and—
SNAP-PASS!
Instead of going for the shot, Ethan whipped a no-look pass backward to Brandon Young, who was wide open under the rim.
Brandon's eyes widened.
"Shit—!"
Instinct kicked in.
He jumped up and slamd the ball into the hoop.
SWOOSH!
...
The gym exploded.
The entire sequence happened in re seconds, but for everyone watching, it was like magic.
"What the hell was that!?" a spectator shouted.
Mason Hayes clicked his tongue. "Damn it—this guy..."
Even Alec Storm narrowed his eyes.
"That was... Playmaking."
Not just simple passes.
Not just vision.
It was control.
....
Ethan Albarado's POV
As Brandon landed, looking slightly stunned at his own dunk, I grinned.
"Looks like my skills finally showed up."
Lucas nudged with his elbow.
"Yo. That was sick."
I smirked.
"I know."
Evan walked past, shaking his head but smiling.
"Okay, Albarado. I see you."
The scoreboard flashed.
-----
Orlando Hoops – 50
Vorpal Basket – 34 ( 2)
-----
Alec Storm took the ball for the inbound pass, but this ti, his smirk was gone.
For the first ti in this ga—
Orlando Hoops looked... cautious.
I cracked my knuckles.
"Yeah. Keep watching, Alec. This is just the beginning."
....
The screech of the referee's whistle echoed through the gym.
Tiout: Vorpal Basket.
Coonie Smith let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head.
"This fat pig of a coach... He calls a tiout now? When we're finally building montum? Fucking idiot."
His hands clenched into fists as he glanced around at his teammates.
For the first ti this season—hell, maybe the first ti ever—Vorpal Basket wasn't completely getting embarrassed.
They were fighting.
And it was because of two players.
Lucas Graves. Ethan Albarado.
Coonie's sharp black eyes locked onto Lucas.
"Lucas was always decent, but not like this."
Before today, Lucas was just another bench player.
He hustled, worked hard, but his skills? Average.
Now?
He was mimicking moves that should've taken years to master.
His footwork. His ball-handling. His defense.
Flawless.
"How the hell did he improve this fast?"
Coonie stole a glance at his other bench teammates.
Their expressions said everything.
They were all thinking the sa thing.
Lucas Graves wasn't just better—he was unrecognizable.
But then there was Ethan.
Coonie turned his gaze toward the newest surprise on the team.
Ethan Albarado.
The forr water boy.
A guy who had never stepped onto the court in an official ga.
Coonie scowled, rubbing his forehead.
"We never saw him play because this fatass coach never gave him a chance."
The truth stung.
"If only Coach Mason had subbed Ethan in earlier in the season..."
"Maybe—just maybe—we could've won at least one fucking ga."
He clicked his tongue in irritation.
Why did it take this long?
Why did it take a forced substitution for Coach Mason to put him in?
Because of that bullshit favoritism, Vorpal Basket had been stuck with the sa useless starters every ga.
Coonie clenched his fists tighter, his nails digging into his palms.
Then, for the first ti in the ga—
His eyes dropped down to the floor.
A bitter chuckle slipped out.
"I hope I can play too..."
The thought made his chest tighten.
Because deep down—he knew the truth.
Right now, Ethan and Lucas were the ones changing the ga.
And Coonie?
Coonie was still just another naless benchwarr.
To be continue
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